


Father Son Chat

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Dawson's Creek, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying Dean Winchester, Drunk John Winchester, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Neglectful John Winchester, Teen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Dean has a chance to tell his dad how he really feels after picking him up from a bar.(based on a conversation Pacey Whitter has with his father in season 2 of Dawson's Creek)





	Father Son Chat

Dean walks into the bar and barely has time to say the name “John Winchester” before he sees him. He’s shitfaced and swaying on his feet as he holds a handful of darts in one hand. In the other is a glass of amber liquid. It sloshes in the glass. 

Dean walks through the bar, keeping his eyes down as he makes his way over to his dad. He taps his father’s shoulder and flinches when John turns. He reeks of the alcohol he’s practically sweating. 

“Time to go,” Dean says. He’s afraid to touch him. 

“I’ll go when I’m ready!” John slurs in a bark. Dean forces himself not to wince. Sam is asleep back at the motel alone. Dean doesn’t want him to wake up to an empty room. He doesn’t know if he can handle listening to his little brother cry out for their dad in the middle of the night, a nightmare chasing him in the dark, while John is at a bar drinking his life away. 

John throws back the rest of his drink and slams his empty glass on the bar. Dean makes eye contact with the bartender and shakes his head. 

“Guess I’m done,” John slurs. He throws the entire handful of darts at the wall before starting to turn around. Dean quickly picks up all the darts from the floor and puts them on the counter next to the empty glass before catching his dad. 

John drapes himself over Dean and mumbles a little as they stumble out together. On the steps, John trips and pulls Dean down with him. Dean is the one who hits the pavement. He feels his skin rip and pushes John off of him. Of course, the old man doesn’t have a scratch. 

Dean sits up and checks the rest of himself. His hands are scraped and his face is bleeding, but overall he’s fine. John, on the other hand, is passing out. His eyes flutter closed and he smacks his lips a few times before letting out a soft grunt that sounds somewhat like a snore. 

“How was your day, son?” Dean asks himself, forcing his voice deeper. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs his arms around them. “It was okay. Sammy got an A on his history project. That kid really knows his shit, ya know?”

John doesn’t move besides the rise and fall of his chest. Dean clenches his jaw and wipes his sleeve over his face to get rid of the blood. 

“What about you? How are your grades doing?” Dean asks himself again. “Not great. I know I could be doing better, but there’s a lot going on. There always is though, so that’s no excuse.” He wants to say more, but they’re already having such a nice conversation. Why ruin the moment? 

“Are you dating?” Dean asks, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks down into his dad’s sleeping face. “I have crushes. I’ve kissed. I’ve been under the bleachers. Some were girls. Truth is, we’re never anywhere long enough for me to bother dating. And no one wants to date a single father, right dad?

“That’s what I am. I’m a single father to my kid brother at fifteen. I’m  _ fifteen,  _ dad.” Dean’s voice cracks. “I’m fifteen and I’m failing school. I don’t know my teachers’ names and I don’t remember what town I’m in half the time. I haven’t eaten tonight, dad. I couldn’t afford it.”

Dean looks over his shoulder at the Impala. He sighs, fighting back tears. “When did you give up on me? When I was five? Six? Ten? I can’t remember the last time you told me you were proud of me. I can’t remember the last time you gave a shit. When did I stop being worthy of love in your eyes? Did that die with mom?” 

Dean wipes furiously at the hot tears that he couldn’t stop from flowing. He accidentally hits the gash on his forehead and winces. He scrambles to his feet as someone else comes out of the bar. 

“Heading home, boy?” the man asks. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answers, lifting John’s shoulders and dragging him over to the car. He opens the back door and heaves his father onto the backseat. After slamming the door, Dean leans against the car and buries his face in his palms, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Out of time, Dean gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. He looks up into the rearview mirror and scowls at the snoring lump of a drunk man. 

“I’m sorry, son,” Dean says softly to his reflection as his face crumples. “I’m sorry too,” he answers himself as he starts to cry. 


End file.
